All Chapters of Will Bear the Moon: Chapter 391 - Chapter 400

416 Chapters

Chapter 103 Prt. III So Begins Good Intent By Poor Design

*Bruno*The door clicked shut behind them. A soft, final sound—yet somehow it echoed through the study like a judge's gavel, like trap snapping on a mouse. Bruno flinched at it. Or maybe at the silence that rushed in after, thick and suffocating as wool pressed over mouth and nose.Either way, footsteps faded down the corridor- Ana’s soft sfft sfft of slippers over stone, Nugen’s clink of sword against leather holster- muffled by oak and distance until even their phantoms dissolved into nothing. And even when silence reigned absolute, Bruno didn't move.Couldn't, if he was being honest with himself. He stood lost in that fractured space—shoulders rigid beneath his muslin tunic that suddenly felt thinner than a breath of paper,fingers curled so tightly into the hem that his knuckles ached. The rough fabric bunched in his fists, damp with nervous sweat he hadn't realized was gathering.His burgundy gaze dropped to the heart of the tray—the cup of blood. Once fresh, it had begun to cl

Chapter 104 The Weight of Nothing

*Anastasia*Something is wrong.I feel it the moment I step through the archway. Like a wrongness that crawls up my spine in frozen fingers seeking bone.The fire pits are overstocked, logs piled high enough to throw heat that should comfort. Emphasis on the should, yet the cold cuts straight through the thin soles of my slippers. Climbing my legs with the persistence of rising water. It settles between my shoulder blades, coils at the base of my skull under my braid like a serpent made of ice.The air stinks of smoke and iron and something faintly sour beneath it all, like a room shut too long.Too loud. Too exposed. Too empty.Stone answers stone as I cross the threshold, each footfall ringing sharper than it should, as though the hall itself has become a drum and I'm the stick beating against it. The announcer bellows my name—formal, booming, reverent as always. As usual, it’s followed by the familiar trigger, a wave of acknowledgment.But that only enhances what is wrong."Your Em

Chapter 104 Prt. II Tumbling Down

*Admiral Nugen*The room heard it before it understood it—the thin, surrounding chime of metal striking frozen stone. Clink... clink...It bounced. One step. Then another down the dais. Each clang was hollow and soft, yet somehow stealing breath from every throat. The roaring tide of heated argument—the fanged protests, the open sneers—ripped away like silk twine torn from a corset. Every thrashing voice silenced by that small, terrible sound.As if all were lost to it. As if the unfathomable had finally given in.It spun once, firelight catching in its delicate tines, before tipping forward and landing face-down at the very bottom step—the sound splintering through the chamber, something more concave. Final. Still.Like a rose snapped at the stem.And then—it was her turn.A cascade of silver hair filled Nugen's vision like a waterfall of cursed moonlight breaking through the shadows between the dark skies. Fragile and thin. Where moonlight shouldn't be.No!His heart didn't beat—i

Chapter 105 A Cost Too Much To Lose

*Mykhol*The room surged with urgency around Mykhol like a tide of incompetence trying to disguise itself as purpose.Servants collided in their desperation to appear useful—or at least avoid appearing useless. Thin-soled slippers skidded on polished marble with the squeal of leather on stone. A basin sloshed, hot water leaping its rim in trembling arcs that caught firelight like liquid amber before splattering. Someone's hip cracked against a side table—a curse bitten back behind fangs—nearly sending a porcelain pitcher to its death. Only caught at the last second with a sharp intake of breath that sounded more prayer for thanks then concern before being swallowed whole.And all the while, in midst of the ramblings, his vermillion gaze remained fixed on the three severe faces surrounding Ana's bed. He watched them as they murmured in rapid-fire consultation, their hushed voices threading through the room like anxious whispers."A cloth—no, cleaner than that. Fresh linen," Sir Eden,

Chapter 105 Prt. II As It Bites It Doth Stings

*Mykhol*Mykhol could have smiled fully—fangs bared like a wolf over a fresh kill. He could have laughed openly, throwing his head back, golden hoops ringing together like celebration bells as he dissolved into sheer glee. Why, he could have gloated to his heart's content—performed a thousand rehearsed victories from those long, sour years of exile, each one more elaborate than the last.But instead—He did something far more delicious.Mykhol lifted a hand.“Her Empress is being treated,” he said evenly, letting words fall slow and measured, like a blanket smoothed over a shivering body. "It was a simple faint. Too much fatigue."Relief rippled through the crowd in a visible wave—shoulders unknotting, lungs remembering how to expand. A few exhaled as if they'd been holding breath since the crown struck marble. Someone murmured thanks—to gods, saints, anything that would listen.Mykhol simply watched it all, satisfied by how easily a room could be guided with the right tone. Like her

Chapter 106 It All Has A Way Of Coming Back

*Mykhol*The heavy wooden door swung shut behind Mykhol with a muffled thud, sealing him into the familiar sanctuary of his private study. He didn’t bother to look about him as he entered–the room knew him the way a hound knew its master—by the scents of aged parchment, rich mahogany, and the faint metallic tang of blood-wine. Warm candlelight danced across the room, casting shifting shadows along the towering bookshelves and transforming the dark rug beneath his boots into a sea of muted patterns. Mykhol strode purposefully across the room, his steps sure and unhurried. Vermillion colored eyes focused straight ahead, he reached for the waiting decanter with a hand that knew every groove and ridge of the cut crystal. The soft clink of glass meeting glass punctuated the heavy silence, a refined sound at odds with the restless energy thrumming beneath his composed mask.As the blood-wine poured in a shimmering crimson ribbon, Mykhol watched the flickering firelight paint sinister glin

Chapter 107 Vigilant Shadow Prt. 1

*Bruno*“Boy,” the voice came out softly. Almost too much so that for a moment Bruno didn’t even register that it was meant for him. No one spoke to him like that. In such a considerate or respectful manner. Not besides his own mom and Ana, that was. Words that weren't barbed and brutal, slurs and vulgarities towards him or Naska, that he'd learned to let slide past like snow falling on stone.So he didn’t answer.He remained rooted where he'd been planted for hours at the edge of Ana’s bed, shoulders squared in a posture that had long ago shed any remnant of childhood—angular, controlled, a shield built from survival. The chamber had quieted down now, stripped of the chaos that had stormed through it hours earlier— no more frantic servants tripping over themselves, no desperate clatter of medical implements, no arguing physicians whose voices scraped like broken glass.Only the fire spoke now.It chewed through seasoned wood with a steady, almost petulant rhythm, as if disappointe

Chapter 107 Prt. II His Sword and Her Shield

It was late. Very late. Bruno didn’t need a clock to tell him—he felt the hour etched into the very bones of the palace. The air had transformed into something razor-thin and sharp, as past midnight had carved itself into the very atmosphere. Sound itself seemed reluctant, exhausted, the corridor holding its breath like the walls were living things that had witnessed too many secrets.The moment he slipped out of Ana’s chamber, the warmth was ripped from him.Most torches had surrendered to the night, burning down to fragile, trembling stubs. Those few flames that still clung to life did so weakly—more phantom than light, casting more shadow than comfort. No servants moved through this wing now, no hands to trim wicks or replenish oil. Ana’s corridor was forgotten, ignored, as if like before —save for just hours ago, when servants and nobles stalked marble in wake of a collapsed Empress. The only time it ever seemed to have changed in all his fourteen years.The door clicked shut beh

Chapter 108 Broken Sword

*Bruno*The moment crystallized like a crack through glass before the door even finished settling on its hinges.A razor-sharp click of heels against marble. A blur of movement so swift it sliced the air—a whip of velvet, the striking gleam of gold rings against pale skin, a hand already rising as if it had been waiting for permission all night.Cold wind rushed past, carrying the bite of stale ashen fire pits gone to embers, the sputtering torchlight, and Lady Funda's perfume— a thick gagging cluster of overlayered scents that had burned a hole in some corner of his vulnerable memories. It swallowed him.Bruno’s body tried to move- do what it had been systematically trained for. A mechanical response caved into him by fourteen years of relentless abuses. Hands instinctively rising. Head angling down. Shield the face. Brace for impact constructed from learned helplessness.But this time, his mind was a heartbeat too slow.The slap landed with a sound that seemed to crack the very marb

Chapter 108 Prt. II Broken Shield

*Bruno*The courtroom felt like an ice-sealed tomb—stone and shadow breathing with a cold so precise it could slice flesh from bone. The long, hollow windows sweated a chill that crept across the air like invisible talons, gripping tighter with each passing moment.Only two figures stood illuminated in the dying candlelight.Like fire and ice.Sir Bruno versus the Black Knight.Mykhol still loomed over him, close enough that Bruno could taste him in every inhale—pepper and something dark, wine-rich and choking. His hand remained near Bruno’s face for a beat longer than necessary, rings catching the last restless flickers of torchlight, as if he were unable to pull himself back. Too tempted to savor this moment where Bruno couldn’t retreat.Bruno’s lip throbbed once more, where Funda had struck him; the wound sealing up now, healing, but the dried blood dragged at his skin like a reminder branded into his very being. He held himself still, jaw locked, palms stinging where his nails had

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